


The Eyes that Saw

by Amatara



Category: Babylon 5
Genre: Angst, Character Study, Friendship, Gen, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-22
Updated: 2010-10-22
Packaged: 2017-10-12 19:58:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/128490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amatara/pseuds/Amatara
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vir Cotto's path from ambassador to emperor, seen through five different sets of eyes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Eyes that Saw

**Author's Note:**

> Written for crossing-hades, for the help_pakistan auction.

**I.**

“He’ll be fine,” John had told her, as they returned from the Centauri homeworld. “I’m sure he’s partying into the night.” At which she had smiled and nodded, squeezing John’s wrist as if she believed that. As if the lingering fear when she thought of Londo, hard and distant and so very _dark_ inside his white Imperial garb, wasn’t real at all.

She was fooling herself. That, Delenn did not doubt. Which was why, returning to her quarters tonight, she wasn’t surprised to find her steps leading her past Londo’s old suite.

It was an odd thing. Leaving Centauri Prime in ruins, it felt as if she had left more than just Mollari there. Her faith in the Alliance, for one, because if recent events had taught her one lesson, it was that its members hardly held it as sacred as she did. Some of her hopes for the future, even though that was more premonition than fact. And then, she feared she’d lost Lennier as well – was losing him further with each passing hour. She already missed him more than if he had not been around at all.

The door to Londo’s quarters was as inconspicuous as ever – deceptively so, she had often thought, not without affection. She’d been a regular visitor there, in the months that lay behind them. While the trimmings were about as contrary to Minbari tastes as possible, by the end she had almost felt at home there. With Vir as new Ambassador, they had planned on giving the room to him, but to their surprise he had refused. The reasons he offered, vague reasons the likes of ‘too many memories’ and ‘being his own man’, had not sounded quite convincing to her. Yet on another level, she’d understood all too well.

It caught her eye just when she turned to leave. At first she thought she’d imagined it, but no – the little blue light at the wall, the one that normally indicated an engaged lock, was dark. In an impulse she moved towards it, and sure enough, the door slid open.

The room was dimly lit, and for a moment she didn’t spot anyone inside. Not, that was, until she took another step in, when there was a resounding thump followed by a yelp of pain.

“Ow! I – _oh._ Great Maker –”

“Vir?” Peering into the gloom, she could just make out a pair of black-clad legs, maneuvering out from under an office table. “I am sorry,” she hastened to add. “It was not my intention to startle you.” She paused, taking a better look at the boxes he must have been rummaging in. “You are sorting out Londo’s things?”

“Yes.” Vir stood, rubbed the back of his head and winced. “I, ah– I’ve been putting it off for the past few days. So I decided it was time to just, well... _suck it up_ and get it over with.”

“I see.” She allowed herself a smile at the human colloquialism. “There are a great deal of his possessions still here.” That, she guessed, was an understatement. The room was chaos – books and cutlery and large piles of documents scattered across the floor and tables.

“He never packed,” Vir blurted, with an intensity that caught her by surprise. “Ever since the hearings started, he was touting about how he wouldn’t return, that he’d had enough of this place, acting like he would be happy to be gone… But when he left, _he didn’t pack a thing_.” Taking a breath, he picked up a small, carved mirror and twirled it around in his hands. “Adira sent this as a gift,” he muttered, almost to himself. “Cost him a fortune just to pay the import taxes. He spent the better part of a week cursing over it, but –” Voice wavering slightly as he put the mirror back down. “It was the happiest I’d seen him in a long time.”

She simply nodded, picked up the point where he had left it. “What you mean to say is, he was only _pretending_ to be angry enough to want to leave.”

“Oh, he was angryall right. But–” He went to smoothing down a plain triangular pillow, one she was surprised to recognize as a Minbari design. “Actually, there _is_ another time when I saw him that happy. Just a few months ago, working with you and G’Kar and president Sheridan to found the Alliance.” Unsteady breath. “He _believed_ in the Alliance, Delenn. He may not have said it in as many words, but–”

“I know,” she replied, remembering a time when she could not have imagined seeing such conviction in Vir’s eyes. “It was quite impossible to mistake Londo’s enthusiasm for anything else. Which leaves the question: what caused him to change his mind?”

“I have no idea,” he muttered. “I don’t know if he even _did_. I just– there’s so much I don’t understand right now.” Catching her gaze at the pillow, he gave a faint little smile. “I brought this back from Minbar. Londo used to say it was the ugliest piece of decoration he’d ever laid eyes on. I was sure he’d thrown it away.” Hint of a grin, before his eyes turned pained again. “It all seems so very long ago now, doesn’t it?”

“And you have used the time wisely,” she told him, feeling the sudden need to offer comfort. “You have grown, you have done good things, and you now have the opportunity to do more. I believe that is all we can wish for, in the end.” A glimmer of gratitude in his face, and she continued, “There is a saying, with my people, that the truth is like… Well, I do not know what the Centauri call it. The Humans would say _fireflies._ Shining more brightly as the night grows darker. The little truths – truths as small as Londo keeping this pillow – as much as the large ones.”

He nodded, suddenly looking exhausted. “It’s just… I miss him. Not that I know _why_. It’s only been a few days, and anyway, it’s not like I won’t see him again, but–”

“I understand,” she said, thinking of Lennier, still there but already mostly gone.

Meeting her eyes, he straightened his shoulders with some effort. “I just hope… the darkest part of the night is behind us, Delenn.”

“And I with you, Vir Cotto.”

 

 **II.**

Pouring the last of the wine, with what he hoped was a convincingly ebullient gesture, Londo signaled for another bottle. “I am impressed, Vir – it seems you are holding your liquor far better than you used to.” He cracked a laugh, was pleased to have it come out only slightly forced. “There may be hope for you yet!”

Still waving his hands in frantic refusal, for a moment Vir looked like a ten-year-younger version of himself. Then the hands lowered, and the moment passed.

“Um–” Vaguely uncomfortable look. “If by ‘used to’, you’re referring to the single instance where–”

“– you passed out after having consumed the grand total of _two_ glasses of liquor? Why, what else!?” Londo lost little time retrieving his own glass, swirled it briefly before taking a sip. One sip at a time would have to do. After all, he was not drinking for a short reprieve – from his Keeper, his _life_ , whatever part of his existence he usually picked as a reason for escape – tonight. Instead, he needed this to last. Be sober enough for proper conversation, yet drunk enough not to be overwhelmed by memory. Yes. That would be quite perfect.

Unfortunately, though he took care to pour himself at least double the amounts he poured Vir, he wasn’t as much as light-headed yet.

“I see two possibilities,” he went on, before Vir could resume the conversation. “Either life as an Ambassador has grown on you, or you have been practicing, hmm?”

He was pleased to see Vir’s face darken slightly – though not half as much as it would have in the past. “Well, I have to admit…” Vir offered a cautious smile. “In negotiations, it _does_ help if your adversaries can’t, ah– incapacitate you by buying you a single drink. So yes. In a way, I _have_ been practicing.”

“Which reminds me, Vir–” Londo took another sip of his drink. “How were the _festivities_ at Babylon 5? Appropriately splendid, I might hope? After all, the tenth anniversary of the Alliance’s founding is something we are all grateful for, is it not?” He put just enough bitterness into the words to make Vir’s cheeks turn pink again. And of course, there was no need to say it had also been the tenth anniversary of his coronation, not to mention...

But no, no, he would not think of this. Not with the Keeper drowsing sleepily on his shoulder – hardly intangible, but at least nonintrusive for now. No need to ruin a perfectly tolerable evening.

“Oh, it was – very nice,” Vir said. He picked up his own glass in what was clearly just a tactic to keep himself from fidgeting. “Very impressive. President Sheridan surprised everyone by arriving in a Starfury, which was… well, it was a sight to remember.” Vir set down the glass a little shakily. “In fact, he had company,” he said, eyes suddenly hooded. “Someone named Vintariwas there as well. I believe you know him?”

“Cartagia’s son?” Londo huffed, as innocently as he could. “Well, better for the boy to do harm out there than in here, no?” Where once, he could have read Vir’s face as clearly as any book, for the moment it was carefully neutral. So Vir hadimproved at playing the diplomatic game, then.

“To be honest, he was perfectly civil when I spoke to him,” Vir said, still not meeting his eyes. “In fact, he told me some – very interesting news.”

Londo tilted his head. “And… you wish to share this news with me?”

“Oh, I think you already know. Something about me – being second in line for the throne?” And if Vir’s face had been a blank page before, right now it looked more like a public statement. A very painfulone, at that. Or no, not pain as much as… disappointment?

“Vir.” He swallowed. “The only reason he knows, while you did not, is that by law, he hadto be present when I asked the Centaurum to accept you –”

“Y _ou_ asked the Centaurum?” Vir sputtered, wide eyes growing wider. “Londo… When exactly were you planning on telling me?”

“Perhaps–” he said, improvising, “I was planning to tell you tonight? After all, it is not like we meet face to face like this very often, hmm?”

Vir shook his head, slowly, but he already looked half mollified. “But – how? And – oh, never mind how; _why?_ ”

“I convinced the Centaurum they owed me a favor. And that Cartagia – or, through him, his son – owed them compensations. For the brutal murder of several Centauri officials, if nothing else. As for the why _–”_ He paused. “I believe you know the answer to that, do you not, Vir?”

Vir’s head was still bobbing, as if it had been tied to a spring. “You did it because of the prophecy, didn’t you?” Softly. “Lady Morella… She said I was going to be emperor after you died, so you –”

On his shoulder the Keeper stirred, its interest piqued, and he hastened to cut in, “The prophecy is part of it, yes. I would be lying if I said it was not, but it was not my only reason.” He sighed. “The truth is, Vir, there is no one else I trust.”

The look on Vir’s face was half surprise, half long-suffering tolerance. “But I’m not – you _know_ I’m not Emperor material. And even if I was, I don’t have any ambition to – _”_

“You are a better man than I, Vir,” he said, as gently as he could. “When I am dead, our people will _need_ a good man, morethan a good politician. And who knows – you might even grow to be both.”

Vir’s expression darkened. “Don’t talk like that, like – like you’re already gone. I’m sure you have _years_ ahead of you, so –”

“I most certainly hope not!” he retorted. Worked up a smile at Vir’s stricken look and added, “Vir, I am serious. I am asking you, not as your Emperor, but as a friend. Will you consider –”

“Of course I will.” And now it was Londo’sturn to stare. Leaning over, Vir put a hand on his forearm and squeezed, gently. “I might not like it, Londo, but really… all you ever needed to do was ask.”

 

 **III.**

There was an irony to this, if he could only recall what it was. Something to do with wisdom, too-cramped spaces, as well as a certain Centauri – the one who had taught him about irony in the first place. Because whatever else his own people might excel in, irony wasn’t their strongest feat.

Ah, yes. That, after two decades, it seemed he still needed prison cells to find revelations.

Or, perhaps, that being imprisoned by a man who once was his enemy, on a world that treated his whole peopleas enemies, would almost feel like coming home.

As prisons came, of course, this could barely be called one. G’Kar hadknown prisons in his life, from the air-raid shelters of his childhood to that otherCentauri cell, that had cost him his eye in exchange for his world. In the grand scheme of things, he had always left prisons stronger than when he entered them. This time, though – even though he had chairs here, and water, decent food, even a proper sleeping place – this time, he wasn’t sure at all.

A knock at the door shook him out of his musing. Another unique thing about this experience – that people would _knock_ before they entered.

“Yes?” he called, was surprised when the door didn’t open right away. “Mollari, if you wish to play hide and seek, I suggest you simply –”

But the face peering around the door didn’t belong to Londo. It was Vir Cotto’s.

“G’Kar?” Vir’s eyes were huge in his round face. “I – I came as soon as I heard. Are you all right? Did they –”

“I’m fine,” he reassured, watching Vir step inside and register the cell’s interior with some surprise. “As you see –” He gestured at the modest writing table, the too-short but not all that uncomfortable bed. “The accommodations have improved since I last spent time here. Courtesy of one Emperor Mollari, I presume.” Then, more kindly, “Sit, Cotto. Please. I assure you, I’m perfectly all right. Which I’m unsure can be said of you _._ ”

Vir obeyed, stiffly, perching on the closest chair like it would crumble right from under him. “I didn’t – Great Maker, G’Kar, you actually came _._ If I’d known –”

“– you would have stopped me,” G’Kar said calmly. “And I could not permit that.” He was half expecting Vir to give him that look he used to give Londo, the one that meant ‘you’re talking nonsense, but I’ll shut up anyway’. Instead, he was surprised when Vir’s eyes lit up with very real indignation.

“Well – of course I would have stopped you! Trespassing into the Imperial Palace, of all places – you might as well have walked in with a bomb tied to your back!” Vir was off his feet before he seemed to realize it, paced frantically for about three steps before stopping himself. In a flash, G’Kar was reminded so much of the old Londo it took his breath away. “Well, we’ll find some way to get you out of here.” Firm tone hitching just slightly. “I’m sure Londo will know what to do.”

G’Kar wasn’t sure why he had to smile at that, but he did. “Given that it was Mollari who put me here in the first place – I quite doubt that.”

Vir’s face fell. “ _Londo_ locked you in here?”

“He believed it was the only way to keep me alive,” G’Kar explained. “He said that, had he even tried to persuade – _someone,_ he didn’t say whom, and I did not ask – to have me released, my life would have been forfeit in any case.” He didn’t mention that Londo had said something else as well, something he couldn’t stop thinking about. How, just before locking him into the cell, Londo had grabbed him by the collar with a strength G’Kar had not known he possessed, and whispered: “You must stay alive, G’Kar. You must!Do you hear me? If you die – more may be lost than you even know.” After which he’d swept out, leaving G’Kar to contemplate the meaning of that.

He shook off the memory to find Vir watching him, an odd kind of gleam in his eyes.

“You’re wondering why I came,” he said, asking the question that Vir, apparently, wasn’t going to. Then, when Vir nodded, “In part, I simply came to learn – what is transpiring here, and who is behind it. Judging by Mollari’s words, it seems someone thinks I already learned too much. Something is happening here Mollari doesn’t control, and I intend to find out what.”

Vir sat down again, rubbed his forehead. “I’ve suspected the same. And Londo’s hinted as much, on a occasion. But what do you expect to learn from inside a prison cell?”

A thin beam of sunlight was creeping through the window, and G’Kar stretched and basked in it for a long moment. “I said I came _in part_ to learn,” he said, breathing deeply. “I also came because, for some time, I’ve been feeling… compelled to do so. I cannot explain it, but something tells me I should be here. To fulfill some purpose I cannot yet see.”

“So, you’re – you’re just going to trust there’s a reasonfor all this, and – _wait?_ ” Vir said.

“I have learned the universe works in ways all its own,” G'Kar said, simply. “I was driven to come here, and now something is telling me I should stay. It’s as straightforward as that.” For the first time, he realized that what used to be just laughter lines around Vir’s eyes had solidified into tiny crinkles. “In any case, this is not a bad life. I write in the day, and in the evenings, I dine with Londo, while I reminisce and he insults me for it. Not unlike old times.”

Vir’s face was tense with concentration. “Well, maybe... maybe we can use this to our advantage. If you gather any information, then pass it on to me, perhaps I can find someone from the outside to –”

“That was precisely what Mollari told me _not_ to allow you to do,” G’Kar said. “Or he wouldn’t be able to guarantee your safety.”

“I don’t need to be kept safe!” Vir exploded, voice rising half an octave. “I need to _do_ something – find out what’s going on, who is controlling this. I don’t want Londo to be holding my hand, like – like I’m some _child_ who needs –”

“What you are,” he said, taking advantage of Vir coming up for air, “is the single thing he cares most about.” At Vir’s baffled stare, he continued, “His own life, even mine, those are all expendable – we are not young men, after all. But you are his future. What will remain of him when he’s gone. He will protect that at all costs, and I have made him a promise to do the same.”

Vir shook his head, wearily, suddenly looking every one of his years. “G’Kar, I… I spent too many years watching something I knew would end badly, not interfering. I don’t want things to be like that ever again.”

“I understand,” he said. “But something tells me you will get your chance for action before this is over.”

Something told him Vir knew that as well.

 

 **IV.**

She could have had a royal welcome. Asthe Emperor’s widow – the wife Londo had kept – she could probably have had whatever welcome she asked for. But in the end, she didn’t ask for a thing. Much as she tried to give the opposite impression, Timov was a private person. And she preferred it to keep it that way.

It was a good tactic, always had been: make it _seem_ like she wore her heart on her sleeve, while in truth it was merely her tongue. It had carried her through most of her life, andher marriage. Not that Londo had been a bad husband, per se. But for all his bluster about knowing to please a woman, he had not known at all how to please _her_ – the wife who loathed protocol, which happened to be the very air he breathed. Which made it even more remarkable that, of all occasions where they might have grown closer, it had happened after he took the throne.

It hadn’t lasted, though. Which was why, today, she’d simply come as one of the people – no protocol, no fuss. Unrecognized in her plain grey cloak, she’d stood in line just like the rest of them, waiting to enter the room where Londo was laid out. She was, after all, no longer quite his wife. Not since the night he sent her away.

She’d planned to leave after paying her respects, but instead she found herself wandering the hallways, hoping to catch sight of Vir. It was hardly proper, but that never stopped her before. Anyway, the boy would be grateful for a familiar face. Never mind he was no longer a boy, or even just a man anymore. Emperor or not, he couldn’t be that different from the Vir she knew.

She found him in a side room, talking in hushed tones to a man she recognized, after a moment, as the Alliance president. From the look on Vir’s face when he spotted her, a look halfway between bafflement and joy, she must have been the last person he expected to see. Given that he’d tried to contact her and she hadn’t responded, she could hardly blame him.

He was at her side in a second, taking her by the elbow. It was all she could do not to shake him off, before she decided it wouldn’t be wise. She was hardly as young as she had been, the support hardly unwelcome. At least, Vir didn’t embrace her with Sheridan watching.

“Mr. President –” Vir addressed him, less shyly than warily, or so it seemed. “You remember the lady Timov, don’t you? Londo’s wife?”

Sheridan frowned, and Timov shot him a pointed look. “Well, I remember _you_. Granted, I’m not quite as well preserved, but given my age as compared to yours, I had higher expectations of your memory!” Of course, that drew a worried glance from Vir. But rather than looking insulted, Sheridan just laughed, a deep throaty rumble of a laugh.

“You’re quite right,” he told her, turning serious again like the flip of a switch. “And now, of course, I doremember you. Please, allow me to extend my condolences.”

Words were cheap, but still, better than nothing. She gave a vague nod of acknowledgment. “Thank you. I would compliment you on your speech, but I rather think I’ll judge you on actions instead.”

Vir cleared his throat. “Lady Timov, without the President’s help, we wouldn’t have learned about the Drakh’s presence –”

“– in time for me to bury my husband?” she asked coldly. “You’ll forgive me, Mr. President, if my gratitude is not overwhelming.”

To his credit, Sheridan met her eyes levelly. “Then I offer both my condolences andmy apologies,” he said, making it her turn to blink. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m sure the both of you have a lot to discuss. I’ll see you later, Vir.” And with a last nod and a pat on Vir’s shoulder, he was gone.

Vir sighed, a long, weary sigh that caused his back to hunch and his shoulders to drop. “Lady Timov, I –”

“Don’t you ‘Lady Timov’ me!” She glared. “Unless you’d like me to call you ‘Your Majesty’ from now on?”

“ ‘Vir’ will do just fine,” he said, softly. Then, “Timov… I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be,” she told him, in a voice that sounded only slightly strained. “If Londo endured what it seems he’s had to endure for two decades, it was time for it to end.” A statement at which the Vir of old would have looked shocked, but this Vir only bit his lip. His hand tightened on her arm, and she found herself covering it with hers.

“You’ve lost weight again,” she chided, more to fill the silence than anything else. She wasn’t sure she could bear the silence. “Tell me, Vir. How are you?”

He shrugged, steering her in the direction of the couch. “Well, the past days were… let’s say a nightmare might just be the proper word.” Pent-up breath. “But the Drakh truly are gone, I think, and with Sheridan here on behalf of the Alliance, I, ah – I’m hoping we’re through the worst now.” He let go of her arm only when she was seated, sat down next to her. “I just – I don’t know how Londo managed, all these years.”

“I never thought he would make such a good liar,” she said. “When he sent me away – I believedhim. I truly believed he never wanted to see my face again.”

Vir hesitated. “I – I think that was the hardest thing he’s ever done.”

“You _knew_?” That came out scathing, but for a second she didn’t care.

“I didn’t _know_ – he certainly didn’t tell me – but… I had reasons to suspect. Yes.” Vir’s hands were small, white things in his lap. “I’m sorry.”

She sniffed. “So you have been a good liar as well.”

“He was doing it to protect you,” Vir said, quietly. “Whatever else I didn’t know, I knew enough to realize that. If I had told you, and something happened to you because of it – well, Londo would never have forgiven me. And I wouldn’t have forgiven myself.” His hands wandered up to the Imperial seal around his neck, idly fingered the chain. “Honestly, La- _Timov._ What would you have done if you knew?”

“Walked straight up to the throne, demanded to know the truth, then slapped him in the face for good measure,” she said, honestly.

“So…” Vir didn’t quite smile. “There you are.”

“There we are,” she nodded. And it was true what Londo had said: being angry with Vir was an impossible feat.

“You know, it’s funny,” Vir said. “Of all the skills a politician should have, the ‘being a good liar’ part I’ve never been very… well, good at.”

“I don’t think the people need a good liar, Vir,” she said. “Right now, they are more in need of a good man.”

 

 **V.**

These were hard times to be a historian, he thought, stirring the ink until his fingers ached.

Granted, what were considered _good_ times for historians generally weren’t the best to live in. But that was a hazard of the job, one he’d been aware of from the start. Cartagia, for one – now, those were interesting days. Of course, the fact he still lived to tell the tale was not something to take for granted, especially considering how young he had been. Still, there were constants to being a Centauri chronicler, constants he’d always taken comfort in, despite the risk. Whatever the assignment, there was always plenty of intrigue to keep a biography entertaining. And the higher the position, the greater the scandals. Or at least, that’s how he’d always known it.

Under Cotto the First, things weren’t quite like they used to be.

Oh, he was a pleasant man, the Emperor, a perfect gentleman, no complaints there. But he was also – or at least, his public life – exceedingly dull, even more when compared to his predecessors. Cartagia, of course, had been one of a kind, but Mollari was interesting enough as well, and his death and the tale surrounding it had been a chronicler’s dream. Cotto, on the other hand...

True, there’d been some excitement when he started his reign: some discussion about his right to the throne, a protest here and there regarding the speed with which he’d rejoined the Alliance, his connection to its president… But all of that had been over in weeks, more the aftershocks of the Drakh crisis than anything lasting. The people, even then, had loved Vir Cotto. Here was a man dedicated to truth, if only because he seemed incapable of bending it. Unfortunately, men who had little to hide did not make for very interesting stories.

Even Cotto's death had been a letdown. Natural causes, a heart attack in his sleep at the age of sixty-five, so nothing to wax poetic about. Two wives, no lovers that anyone knew. Two daughters, as well – bookish, serious, and every bit their father’s child.

 _Moderate –_ that was the right word. Temperate; loved, yes; but how many pages could one fill with that?

The Imperial Chronicler sighed, and scratched his beard over so much propriety.

 


End file.
